Rolling Traveler

6:11 am. Time to get up. If my body even thinks about protesting at the earliness of the hour, I’ll remind it that before Lufthansa opened the Dusseldorf-Wroclaw connection, I had to get up at 3:15 to catch a flight out of Dortmund when I wanted to visit my second home. For now, I’m lying in bed, letting myself have a moment to properly wake up, and wondering why I didn’t put both brakes on when I was getting out of my wheelchair into bed. The left brake is dodgy, and I can only put it on when I’m in the chair, so now I have a half-braked chair that’s going to be more difficult to get into, and I wouldn’t mind so much, but this is the third time this week.

6:14 am. Done, in the chair, didn’t fall on the floor. Time to get moving.

6:55 am. I’ve never lived in a better situation for getting to an airport: six minutes to the railway station, nine minutes to the airport from there on an accessible train that stops right under the terminal building. I like Dusseldorf International Airport, or, as more than one of my friends call it, Diiseldorf International (see the picture below). It’s compact and easy to navigate, and it now connects three of my favorite cities.

7:24 am. Already through check-in and security. There was a bit of a line at check-in, held up a group of German businessmen who all wanted to change the seat assignments they’d gotten online, but nothing like the lines at Dublin or Barcelona. As usual, the check-in assistant tried to persuade me to wait and be met there by a member of the assistance crew who could walk me through security, but I’ve never felt the need. I would rather go through than wait around for 20 to 40 minutes. Security was polite and thorough, although the man searching me did forget to ask one important question: before touching a wheelchair user’s back, they’re supposed to ask if it hurts and where it hurts so they don’t aggravate anything.

7:29 am. Breakfast. I’m on my usual quest to find a sandwich that hasn’t been tainted by Europe’s obsession with mayonaise. The ham seems clean, but I’ll have to make sure. Sometimes they use ’sandwich cream’ instead. It’s an egg-based foul-tasting white spread, but the Germans assure me it’s different to mayonaise. 

7:32 am. The café is dominated high, bar-type tables, about eye-height to a wheelchair user. No-one is sitting at any of these. The rest are regular restaurant tables, and all but one have people at them. Designers, take note: people prefer low tables.

8:11 am. The disabled access restroom’s automatic door took a very long time to close. While I was waiting, I engaged in a staring match with a six-year old girl. She started it.

8:30 am. It amazes me how many people are late for their flights. I’ve never (touch wood) gotten a final boarding call. Not once. The Turin flight from the gate next to mine is missing 5 passengers and they’ve been called four or five times already. I’d leave the sods behinds, they’re probably in the pub.

8:32 am. The wheelchair assistance crew member is here, so they’ll be boarding me in a minute. Time to post. Next stop, Wroclaw Poland.

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